


Not as Big and Strong

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Caregiving, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner - Freeform, Minor Tony Stark - Freeform, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sick Character, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, Vomit, Vomiting, stomach bug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6478420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve comes down with an unexpected stomach bug. Bucky's there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not as Big and Strong

**Author's Note:**

> vomiting TW

This was not supposed to happen. He was not supposed to get sick.

This was all that seemed to be able to play over and over in Steve Rogers’ head as he made the uneasy sprint to his apartment. He would have taken the elevator (for the first time since he had moved in) but the rolling in his stomach and the sweating of his palms had convinced him that running would be quicker.

The door of his apartment seemed to be getting further away, it seemed, as he paced it down the hall. He reached it, letting his forehead rest against the door (the wood was cold) and used one shaky hand to try and unlock the many locks and the other to press in a tight fist against his mouth to quell the rhythmic barrage of retches hitting him in waves.

The door opened, but through not effort of his own.

“Steve?” Bucky asked, holding the door and frowning in immediate concern.

“Fine,” Steve reassured stiffly, swallowing hard, “I’m fine.”

He shouldered past Bucky quickly, being sure to pat his back affectionately to soften the brisk gesture. He broke into another jog. The movement made him heave more but it was that or ruin the carpet even more that Bucky’s incident with the carton of grape juice had a few weeks back _(“It just exploded!”, “You squeezed it too hard, didn’t you?”, “I might’a done....”)_

Steve near enough fell into the bathroom, booting the door closed behind him and falling into a crouch in front of the toilet in the same movement. He had not vomited for decades, but he remembered how it felt and he had not missed it one bit. It was a bit easier now, less exhausting and minus the asthma attack afterwards. But the sound bile hitting water, the sour taste and the burn in his throat was precisely as awful.

“Maybe you ate something,” Bucky’s voice made him jump, knocking his chin against the edge of the toilet seat.

“How long have you been there? This isn’t my finest moment, as you can tell,” Steve wiped his nose and threw the tissue into the toilet.

“You threw up _on me_ once in Brooklyn. Don’t be so proud,” Bucky chuckled.

Steve coughed in agreement. He had. He didn’t like talking about it. Bucky liked bringing it up.

“Well about the eating? I don’t know,” Steve sighed, “Felt like this for hours and I haven’t eaten anything out of the ordinary.”  


Bucky closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bathtub. He reached out and ran his fingers in cold, metallic circles on the back of Steve’s neck absently.

“It’s not just my stomach either. Everything…hurts. Like I’ve been beat up or someth…”  


Steve’s voice broke off into watery hiccup followed by a wet that made Bucky’s hair stand up.

“I’m gonna’ call Bruce,” Bucky frowned, digging for his cell in his pocket, “I haven’t got a clue.”  


Steve swivelled round, to protest but was interrupted by a pounding in the back of his head that made the room gyrate in a blur of white tiles and nausea.

“Well it’s him or Tony, your call,” Bucky paused with his phone held up like a threat.

“Bruce,” Steve surrendered, “Please not Tony, I’ll have an assortment of seven nicknames waiting for me at work tomorrow.”

Bucky closed the toilet seat and flushed it, sitting down and resting Steve’s head on his thigh. The metal fingers against his cheeks were all Steve cared about, freezing cold and blissfully soothing. He was burning up, he could tell. There was an awkward patch of moisture at the base of his spine that he knew was making his shirt cling and his hair was sticking to his forehead.

“You’re not going to work tomorrow,” Bucky assured, “You will literally have to shoot me to get out of this apartment unless you’re planning on going to the hospital which I know you are most likely not.” Steve blew a weak sigh out of his nose and closed his eyes. He felt drunk.

“Dr Banner?” Bucky put a gentle finger to Steve’s lips, pre-empting the inevitable stream of ‘I promise, I’m fine’s’ and ‘I’m sure it’s nothing’s’.

“Yeah? You noticed, then. He’s been throwing up since he got home.”

Steve felt the dread creeping through him. He thought he had been hiding it well.

The phone call was shorter than he expected, Bucky frowning in concentration like he always did and the normal friendly goodbyes.

“Well, Bruce noticed you looked sick so Jarvis took the liberty of running a diagnostics scan on you while you were distracted.”

Steve winced. There was no way that would have gotten past Tony.

“You’ve got norovirus, it’s common in normal people and because it wasn’t in steady circulation in the Forties when you were given the serum, there’s no immunity in your system for it. Or mine, so I’m probably going to look as crappy as you in a few days.”

Steve groaned, letting he head fall a bit more solidly into Bucky’s lap, the sudden flow of information seeming to intensify the ache.

“Is there anything we can do to get rid of it?” he mumbled.

“No. Fluids and rest, baby boy,” Bucky stood up slowly, “Arm’s up. I’m carrying you.”

Steve shook his head.

“No way, you don’t need to carry me I’m fine.”

Bucky crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow. It was a face Steve knew well. It meant he was about to be either royally called out, or royally proved wrong.

“Stand up, then,” Bucky offered, a small smirk hitting the edge of his mouth.

Steve did, using the toilet seat as a support. He got to his feet and the world promptly turned grey. Before he could hit the floor, strong hands were under his ribs and he was being hauled into a bridal carry.

“I told you so,” Bucky almost whispered, “You’re not as big and strong as you thought you were.”

“I swear, I will sneeze in your general direction, get you sick, and you will be out of action for days,” Steve threatened half-heartedly, holding on a little tighter to Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky smiled and put Steve down on their bed, pulling his t-shirt over his head (“Quit treating me like a kid, Buck!”) and sitting on the edge next to him. He put his left hand on Steve’s chest, smiling to himself as the Captain let out a shaky sigh of comfort at the cold touch of steel against bare flesh.

“Then I wouldn’t be here to look after you now, would I?” Bucky smoothed his other hand over Steve’s forehead and kissed it, lingering until the Captain turned away from the heat.

Steve smiled.

“No,” He sighed, “No you wouldn’t.”  


  



End file.
